It drew her as a scent draws a bee from afar. But also it hurt her.
It was summer, and she wore cotton frocks. The third time he saw her she had on a dress with fine blue-and-white stripes, with a white collar, and a large white hat. It suited her golden, warm complexion.
"I like you best in that dress," he said, standing with his head slightly on one side, and appreciating her in a perceiving, critical fashion.
She was thrilled with a new life. For the first time she was in love with a vision of herself: she saw as it were a fine little reflection of herself in his eyes. And she must act up to this: she must be beautiful. Her thoughts turned swiftly to clothes, her passion was to make a beautiful appearance. Her family looked on in amazement at the sudden transformation of Ursula. She became elegant, really elegant, in figured cotton frocks she made for herself, and hats she bent to her fancy. An inspiration was upon her.
He sat with a sort of languor in her grandmother's rocking-chair, rocking slowly, languidly, backward and forward, as Ursula talked to him.
"You are not poor, are you?" she said.
"Poor in money? I have about a hundred and fifty a year of my own—so I am poor or rich, as you like. I am poor enough, in fact."
"But you will earn money?"
"I shall have my pay—I have my pay now. I've got my commission. That is another hundred and fifty."
"You will have more, though?"
"I shan't have more than £200 a year for ten years to come. I shall always be poor, if I have to live on my pay."
"Do you mind it?"
"Being poor? Not now—not very much. I may later. People—the officers, are good to me. Colonel Hepburn has a sort of fancy for me—he is a rich man, I suppose."
A chill went over Ursula. Was he going to sell himself in some way?
"Is Colonel Hepburn married?"
"Yes—with two daughters."
But she was too proud at once to care whether Colonel Hepburn's daughter wanted to marry him or not.
There came a silence. Gudrun entered, and Skrebensky still rocked languidly on the chair.
